Thanksgiving and a journalist’s memories of 36 years

C.W. Nevius on assignment talks to Jack Davis at Mission Creek Senior Community in San Francisco, Calif., Thursday April 30, 2015.

Photo: Sophia Germer, The Chronicle

Thanksgiving is the holiday with no strings attached. No presents, cards or carols. Overshadowed by Christmas, Thanksgiving asks nothing of us but the basics.

We come together, and we eat, hopefully with friends and family. We pause to remember that life is a series of events, both carefully plotted and wildly haphazard. And we reflect and give thanks. So, with my 36-year run at The Chronicle concluding next week, I’d like to do that.

Thanks to:

My wife. We met at Bruce Jenkins’ house 32 years ago and were married the next year. We’ve been through childbirth, 8 a.m. kids’ soccer games and years when I was traveling for weeks at a time and left her alone with two young kids. We’re still in love and we’ve never had a single argument. Well, maybe one, but I can’t remember what it was about right now.

My son and daughter. We have a rule that Dad is not allowed to do family toasts. That’s because I always get choked up and can’t finish. Those two are the greatest pride of my life. What I didn’t expect was that, now that they’re adults, I’d be coming to them for advice. And yes, I got a little choked up typing that.

My daughter’s future wife. You know you’re going to support the choice when your child meets someone special. But the bonus is when you not only like them, but you can see that they make each other better. Wedding this summer. And I am doing a toast, dammit.

My father. Dad died two years ago and I’m still struck by what a sweet, caring man he was. One of his things was that if he spotted a nail on the street he’d always pick it up and throw it away so it wouldn’t ruin someone’s tire. Walking this week I spotted a nail. When I reached down to get it, it felt like a little wave from dad.

My colleagues in the newsroom. I don’t really remember how a group of us started going for coffee at 2:30 almost every afternoon. But I think we all know it isn’t about the coffee. I will miss that.

The editors, who — sometimes against their better judgment — let me take a flier on a half-baked idea for a writing subject. As one said to me once, “I wasn’t sure about that one, but it kinda worked out.” That’s high praise in the newsroom.

The readers who took the time to write. Their responses were funny, touching and passionate. Every once in a while they told me that the words on a page, or on a screen, made them laugh aloud or puddle up. When I wrote about our dog passing away, I got an all-time favorite: “Thanks for making me cry at Starbucks.”

The characters, friends, adversaries, civil servants, politicians, sports figures, Muni drivers, bartenders, security guards, ballpark ushers and street people who have shared their stories. I’ll never be able to mention you all.

Mayor Ed Lee, who didn’t want the job in the first place. He took it, was elected to two subsequent terms and — as a reward — has been second-guessed (sometimes by me), called out in public and booed. He’s remained remarkably upbeat, maybe because he knows there are only three more years.

The Board of Supervisors. Wow, what an exasperating, argumentative and divisive group. But I can honestly say I have never thought that any of them — yes, even Chris Daly — was anything but sincere and committed. Special shout-out to Aaron Peskin, who took me on one of his daily swims in the icy bay. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and that’s exactly how I intend to treat it.

The Coalition on Homelessness. Honestly, I always thought that eventually I would win them over and they’d say that “Although we disagree on many things, he’s not such a bad guy.” Nope. It’s a good reminder that everybody isn’t going to like you.

The San Francisco Chronicle. I came here in 1980 from Colorado Springs, population 100,000, where I’d been writing at the second-biggest newspaper in town. My big break there was when I covered the Wasson Thunderbirds’ buzzer-beating victory in the state high school basketball championship game. The Chronicle hired me, sent me out to cover the Oakland Raiders and somehow it all worked out. I traveled all over the world for the paper, to Olympic Games in Korea, Norway, Spain, Australia, Canada, Japan, France and the strangest place of all, Los Angeles. The time here has defined my life.

The greatest city in the world. When I came here 36 years ago, San Francisco seemed like the most exotic, sophisticated, beautiful place imaginable. I felt sure I was in way over my head and was scared to death. My only hope was that, at some point, I’d be able to fit in.

C.W. Nevius has been a columnist at the San Francisco Chronicle for more than 20 years, covering sports, reviewing movies and spotting trends. He is currently a metro columnist, appearing on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.

As a sports columnist, he climbed the ski jump at the Norway Olympics, ate bee larvae in Japan and skied in the French Alps. In all, he covered eight Olympic Games, from Australia to Spain to Korea. (And the strangest place of all, Los Angeles.)

He also wrote about riding the “Straight Talk Express” with John McCain during his first presidential bid, parachuting out of an airplane and running the Boston Marathon.

Although he reviewed movies only for a year, he did rate a blurb with his byline on the DVD box of “The Santa Clause 2,” to the undying embarrassment of his kids.

He co-wrote “Splash Hit,” about building the Giants’ waterfront stadium, with Joan Walsh. His latest book is “Crouching Father, Hidden Toddler: A Zen Guide for New Dads.”